


Tree Fort

by almostjulie



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 13:56:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6331882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almostjulie/pseuds/almostjulie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>House hides out with Wilson. Wilson hides out with House. </p><p>Written for the Positively House/Wilson challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tree Fort

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is always appreciated!

On Tuesday, House has a patient, so of course he’s hiding. Wilson finds him in a clinic exam room. There’s a hung over college kid passed out on the exam table, snoring softly, while House watches General Hospital. Wilson watches with him until his eleven o’clock patient.

“I’m having lunch tomorrow with Coma Guy. Are you in?”

Wilson nods yes, which House already knows, and walks out the door. He sticks his head back in a moment later. “I suppose you’re expecting me to actually bring the lunch, right?”

“Duh. Coma Guy’s not going to do it. You can be so insensitive sometimes, Wilson.”

*** 

“These fries are cold.” 

“Well, yes, if we were eating in the cafeteria instead of ducking from Foreman in here, your fries might be warmer,” Wilson says, without looking away from the tv. 

It’s Wednesday, and they’re hanging out with Coma Guy, watching Judge Judy. 

It’s Chase who finds them, before the verdict is announced. He tells House their patient is coughing up blood, and House is reluctantly intrigued by the new symptom.

He steals a fry from Wilson as he leaves. “Not my best hiding spot.” Everyone knows about Coma Guy. 

***

Wilson looks in the morgue, up on the roof, the men’s room, and ultimately finds House in Cuddy’s office with his feet up on her desk. It’s Thursday, and House’s patient is stable, but not improving. 

“Hiding out in the lion’s den?”

“Someone paged her to the ICU. Her hands are full for at least an hour.” House twirls his cane. Wilson can’t help but think it’s in triumph. 

Wilson sighs and sits on Cuddy’s couch, puts his feet up on her coffee table. “Hmm. Someone. The same someone who replaced all the pens in my office with crayons?” 

House feigns shock. “You can’t possibly mean me.” 

Wilson gives him a small smile. “Yeah, okay, my mistake.” 

Cuddy yells at them both to do their jobs when she gets back from the ICU. 

***

House sends his patient home on Friday. Or more accurately, Cameron does. House is too busy shooting spitballs at Wilson across his desk while Wilson tries to do paperwork. He’d tell House to stop, but that would only encourage him to wad up another sheet of paper as ammunition. 

“Come on. I’m bored. And tired. Let’s get out of here.” 

“Ah, yes, a week of avoiding responsibility must be exhausting.” But still, Wilson packs up his things. Grabs his jacket, his keys, his -- 

“Looking for something?” House is brandishing his cellphone. 

“Why do you have my phone, House?”

House’s answer is indirect. “Your wife left you a _very_ interesting message.” Wilson grimaces. Things have not been good at home lately. He tells himself it’s why he’s been spending so much time with House. But that’s not true. He always spends too much time with House. “Wanna hide out at my place?”

“You better have beer.” 

***

Wilson wakes up on House’s couch on Saturday. Morning turns into afternoon turns into evening. Wilson tells himself -- tells House -- that he’s going home, several times. But the only time he goes to the door is to pay the pizza delivery guy. 

When they fight over the last slice, House leans in and kisses him. “No girls allowed in the tree fort,” he says. And Wilson kisses him back in agreement. 

***

On Sunday, Wilson makes omelets. He stands over the stove in his t-shirt and boxers and he and House both pretend that House isn’t staring at him.

Later, House stands behind him as Wilson does the dishes. He works his hands under the hem of Wilson’s shirt, and rumbles low in his ear that they’re going back to bed. Wilson knows he’s not going anywhere today, either. 

***

On Monday, they go back to work. Together.

\-- end --


End file.
